


In Sickness

by UniverseEndingParadox



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt!Jim, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 06:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseEndingParadox/pseuds/UniverseEndingParadox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Enterprise is in dire need of repairs. The crew has been debilitated by a disease. Spock does not want to believe that Jim is dying. K/S</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Sickness

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers: Star Trek and its characters does not belong to me.

In Sickness

Stardate 2260

"Acting captain's log Stardate 2260.42. The Enterprise and her crew have been compromised. A recent altercation with a previously unknown species has left the ship in dire need of repairs. In addition, the crew has encountered a virus of unknown origin. 45% of the crew have been infected. More than half of those infected have perished. Many others are near death. The ship's medical resources are being stretched to the limit and recreational decks have been converted into temporary medical bays. We no longer have adequate supplies to deal with the symptoms. The symptoms are the only things we have been able to treat, and as such, inability to fight the symptoms has resulted in the high number of deaths. Dr. McCoy and I have been working ceaselessly to find a cure for this disease, yet I fear time is running out. We are on the brink of a discovery, however, it is most likely that many of the crew will perish before a cure can be found. The Enterprise is desperately in need of aid. Starfleet ships are en route. The estimated time of arrival is seventy two hours. Spock out."

~o~

"Have you made any progress, Doctor?" Spock asked as he stepped into the lab. Without looking up from his work, Dr. McCoy shook his head in dejection.

"Not enough. I've been trying to isolate antigen from the survivors to use as inoculation against the virus. There hasn't been much success though." He gave a faint growl of frustration, a sound that Spock had become accustomed to over the last couple days. The doctor was exhausted, Spock could see the evidence of fatigue through every tense line of McCoy's body. 

"You have performed admirably, Leonard," Spock said, walking up to the doctor's hunched form to offer his assistance. His eyes scanned over the new data that was scattered around the work table, noting the minimal progress in their anti-virus medication. If he were not Vulcan, he would have let out a very frustrated sigh. 

"You must have bad news if you're calling me Leonard," McCoy grumped, finally looking up from his work. Spock raised an eyebrow but did not comment on the illogic of the doctor basing a conclusion on inadequate evidence. They were too weary to argue, and the false animosity was only there to create a sense of normalcy. The grief, anger, and exhaustion in McCoy's eyes almost made Spock loathe to deliver his news.

"I have received news from Starfleet," Spock began, "The aid they have sent is estimated to arrive in seventy two hours. There has not been any other response to our distress signal." He shifted his gaze back to the data pads, waiting for the expletives... And was surprised when none came. "Doctor?" He asked tentatively, slightly afraid that McCoy had finally succumbed to the disease. 

"Dammit, Spock. Do you know how many more people we'll mostly likely lose in three days? Don't answer that. We don't have three days to spare!"

"I am aware of that and have expressed my concern. However, there is nothing that we could do. There are no ships in the vicinity."

It was as if the McCoy could not hear him. "Dammit, man!...Nyota, Hikaru, Scotty...Jim..." Spock had to fight to clamp down on the rush of panicked emotions at the mention of those names. Jim. He stood straighter and slipped his emotionless mask over his face.

"Doctor, you are exhausted, perhaps it would be beneficial to obtain some rest." 

"I don't have time for that, Spock." McCoy growled, furiously tapping at the keys on his PADD. 

"I will continue the work while you rest. You cannot become compromised because of your exhaustion."

"Compromised?! Why you green blooded..." McCoy trailed off, slowly nodding his head in agreement. "You're right, Spock, I'm no use dead on my feet." Spock inclined his head in agreement and moved to take McCoy's spot at the table. The doctor did not move aside as expected. Instead, he dropped his head into his hands with a long defeated sigh. "How did this happen? How did it all get so bad so quickly?" McCoy muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Spock's Vulcan hearing to catch. 

"Dwelling in the past will not change anything, Doctor." 

"Seventy-five crew members dead in a matter of days. Days! Do you know how much paper work this is going to be? Dammit, no one ever listens when I tell them space is nothing but disease and danger." McCoy continued to rant, more aggravated than Spock had ever seen him. 

"Doctor..." Spock started, but McCoy was not listening.

"Should've never agreed to this. Stupid Jim, if I..." Spock winced internally at the sudden silence. He raised his eyes to meet McCoy's suddenly intense stare, uneasy with what he saw there.

"Leonard, you should..."

"You haven't even asked, Spock," McCoy said, cutting him off. Spock feigned ignorance. He had no desire to discuss this with the doctor. "You haven't asked about him or gone in to see him since he started deteriorating."

Spock closed his eyes on an inhale, attempting, yet again, to quell the surge of emotions at the mention of Jim. 

"Why, Spock?" 

Because he had been operating under the illogical fancy that if he did not acknowledge the fact that Jim had been infected as well, then it would not be true. He could not entertain the thought of losing his ashayam to the disease that had already taken so many lives. He could not.

"I thought you care about him," McCoy said gently, his tone letting Spock know that the doctor would not antagonize him. McCoy did not know just how much Spock cared, nor did he know that Spock had only recently admitted the extent of his affection to Jim. 

"More than I understand," Spock admitted quietly, opening his eyes to McCoy's sympathetic expression.

"Then why don't you go see him?" Spock pressed his lips together, refusing to answer not because he did not wish to, but because he could not voice his fears. There was a long silence the, as McCoy studied him through a slight frown. "You're afraid that seeing him would make this nightmare more real," McCoy realized and Spock was grudgingly impressed by the man's perceptiveness. "And you're trying to distance yourself because you think it would hurt less."

Spock inclined his head in agreement and McCoy let out a small chuckle. How he could manage such a sound, Spock did not know. Humans seem to have an uncanny ability to find humor even in the bleakest of situations. 

"Illogical hobgoblin," McCoy said with amusement, "denial is futile. Been there, done that. Doesn't work. You'd think that someone so logical would understand that."

"Though I find your current mood more pleasant than it has been, I do not find the situation to be humorous, Doctor," Spock said, slightly offended that McCoy was amused at his plight. 

"No, Spock, of course you don't," McCoy chuckled, then adopted a more serious tone. "Go to him, Spock. He wants to see you."

Spock did not bother to hide the sudden hope that bloomed in his mind. "He has woken?" It had been three days since Jim had taken a turn for the worse. The victims that had failed to recover never regained consciousness after entering the downward spiral. Perhaps Jim would be one of the survivors.

"Only for a moment, but it's a good sign. Jim won't go down without a fight, Spock. You should know better than to give up on him so soon."

"Indeed, Leonard. I am grateful for your insight."

"I thought thanks were illogical," McCoy smiled, "Go. I promise to rest when you return."

~o~

"Personal log Stardate 2260.42. Vulcans do not believe in luck or miracles. Vulcans do not hope. It is illogical to do so. The situation aboard the Enterprise has become desperate, however, and I find myself hoping against odds for a miracle. We cannot afford to lose more of the crew. Lieutenants Uhura and Scott have taken a turn for the better and Dr. McCoy believes they are on the road to recovery. This is very welcomed news. However, Lieutenant Sulu has taken a turn for the worse. Jim's health continues to decline and Dr. McCoy is afraid that we do not have enough resources to hold off his symptoms for much longer and I...”  
…

“Computer, end recording.”

~o~

Jim was asleep when Spock stepped into the isolation room-just far enough for the door to close behind him. Taking a moment to quell his unease, Spock traced his eyes over the monitors situated around the biobed. As he had expected, the readings were grim. His eyes lingered for a second longer than necessary, willing the readings to provide a more desirable output. It was, of course, a ridiculous and futile endeavor. Taking a breath to steel his resolve, Spock sequestered the illogical fantasy to the back of his mind and proceeded to the bedside. It was then that he was not prepared for this, no matter the strength of his resolve. The Jim lying on the biobed was not the Jim that Spock knew. 

In the two years that they have been in space, Spock had seen his captain in wounded on multiple occasions and near death a handful of times, but it has never been like this. It has never been a slow deterioration such as this. Jim had lost a lot of weight since being infected. The sharp slope of his cheekbones stood out on his pale, gaunt face. Victims of the virus were unable to retain any food, provided they were strong enough to eat in the first place. With the body using more energy than could be regained to fight off the disease, most victims suffered rapid weight loss. Spock knew this, yet he was having difficulty applying rationale to the situation. He observed the faint rise and fall of Jim's chest as the captain took labored breaths. In the back of his mind, Spock knew (from studying the deterioration of the seventy five crewmembers) that it would not be long before Jim could no longer breathe on his own and would require the aid of a ventilator. The virus was particularly adept at systematically shutting down the body's various functions while simultaneously causing internal bleeding in seemingly random places. The hemorrhages have so far been idiopathic and could not be stopped. Drainage and transfusions have kept many alive thus far, however, the ship's blood bank was near total depletion. McCoy had counted less than a dozen bags of each blood type left. Jim had two distinct hemorrhages within his pleural cavity which were being monitored on one of the screens. They were significant enough to have necessitated the placement of two thoracic catheters. He was currently being transfused a second unit of blood.

Spock was pulled from his silent observation by a subtle hitch in Jim's breathing. He carefully lifted his gaze to Jim's face and was just in time to see long lashes flutter against too pale cheeks. Unfocused blue eyes opened a moment later, and Spock was overcome with sudden guilt at having avoided Jim when he had needed support.

“Jim,” Spock said, leaning close so that he could look directly into the blue eyes that he had missed. It seem to take a long while for Jim to register his voice, and longer still for his eyes to focus on Spock. Perhaps it was a figment of his imagination, but Spock could swear that a little more life came into Jim's eyes when he realized who was standing over him

“Spock,” Jim whispered, his voice so weak and imperceptible that Spock felt his insides clench in fear. For a single moment, he could not see beyond how frail Jim had become, how very close to death. But logic demanded him to focus on the more optimistic side and realize that the most important aspect was that Jim had spoken at all. The fact that he still had the strength to utter a word meant that there was enough fight left within him to be of comfort. 

“I apologize for not coming sooner, ashayam.” Jim's lips quirked minutely, not having the energy for anything more than a ghost of a smile. It pained Spock (and he would admit this to none other than Jim) to see his golden captain reduced to such a a fragile state. Reaching out, Spock placed a hand against Jim's sunken face and smoothed his thumb over the burning, delicate skin in what he hoped was a soothing manner. For a few precious moments, brown eyes held blue and Spock wished he had the ability to freeze time. Too soon Jim's eyes began to droop, fatigue pulling him back to the darkness of unconsciousness. “Jim, please attempt to stay awake,” Spock implored, fighting the rising panic within his mind. Now that he had seen Jim awake, he was terrified that it would be the last time. And there were things he had to say... If he were not afraid that it would be the first and only time to say them.

“Jim,” Spock whispered as Jim's eyes fluttered shut, “please.” Spock pressed his lips to Jim's burning forehead in apology when no response came, overwhelmed by the barrage of emotions that he was allowing himself to feel. Drawing back, Spock traced his gaze over the sharp contour of Jim's face, willing himself to believe that everything would be alright against all odds.

“Starfleet has sent aid, ashayam,” Spock said softly and carded his fingers through Jim's golden hair. Leaning down, he brushed a faint kiss over dry lips and took comfort in the feel of Jim's faint breath against his sensitive skin as he pulled back. “You will survive this.” He did not consider the possibility, or even the likelihood, that Starfleet will arrive too late.

~o~

“Acting Captain's log. Stardate 2260.44. Four more crew members have lost their lives to the virus, bringing the number of fatalities to seventy nine. The number is estimated to increase between now and the arrival of aid in 21.4 hours. Ship repairs have been making progress, however, the engines remain unstable and therefore attempting a rendezvous with the Fleet ships to shorten their arrival time is not possible. There are no more units of blood within the ship's resources and many of the crew are quickly succumbing to blood loss. Doctor McCoy has made a ship wide announcement for all able bodied and willing crew members to donate blood for emergency transfusions. Many have volunteered and the situation has seen slight improvement. Spock out.”

~o~

“Spock.”

“Doctor.”

“Tell me you have some good news,” McCoy griped, irritation and plain exhaustion etched deeply on his face as he handed a freshly acquired unit of blood to a nurse. Spock glanced briefly around the room, noting the hastily set up blood donation stations and the various crew members scattered around the room waiting to donate.

“I have synthesized a new form of clotting factor. Based on my models, it should at least slow the hemorrhaging. However, I have not tested it on a living person, therefore, it is impossible to determine if the desired result will be achieved.

“It works in theory though?” McCoy asked.

“Affirmative.”

“Any potential side effects or danger?”

“None that I anticipate. I have designed the clotting factor to have no adverse effect on the human body if it does not do as intended.” Spock waited as McCoy seemed to consider the options. Although blood donated by crew members have improved the dire situation somewhat, many of the patients were losing too much blood at too rapid of a pace for the donations to be sustainable for a long period of time. Additionally, there was not enough time for the fresh blood units to be processed and therefore patients were receiving raw blood that contained antigens and white blood cells that could potentially be detrimental in the future. If Spock's clotting factors were successful in slowing blood loss and maybe stopping it altogether in some, then the newly donated blood could be processed before being transfused. At the very least, there would be more time for donations and therefore more units to be distributed at a more even manner.

“Alright,” McCoy said at last. “How much of the stuff do you have?”

“Only enough for one person at the moment. As synthesis requires resources and energy, I did not wish to create a larger portion until it is proven effective.”

“Good call, Spock. Let's go find someone still coherent enough to give consent.” McCoy strode out of the makeshift donation center with a new determination in his steps. After glancing around in silent approval of the compassionate crew, Spock followed.

~o~

“Personal log. Stardate 2260.45. I have synthesized a clotting factor that seems to be effective in seventy percent of the current patients. Some have seen a significant decrease in the rate of blood loss while others have stopped hemorrhaging completely. This is a very welcomed development. It is unfortunate, however, that the clotting factor does not seem to have the desired effect on thirty percent of the afflicted crew. Jim, as he seems to frequently be, is in the thirty percent against odds. In addition, he has developed an allergic reaction to the clotting agents as well as an additional hemorrhage. It is times like this that I am inclined to agree with Leonard on his assessment that the universe has a personal vendetta against Jim for some inexplicable reason. Given his weakened state, Jim could not afford to have an allergic reaction. As such, he is now completely dependent on life support and has been receiving transfusions every two point six hours. There is not blood for this to be ongoing. I have never understood the human tendency to use expletives until now. Leonard is doing all that he can with the remaining resources to keep Jim alive until the Fleet hospital ship arrives. He does not say it, but he fears it may be a losing battle.

…

I will go to Jim now. Cease recording.”

~o~

“Four more hours, ashayam,” Spock whispered, fingers intertwined with Jim's. He did not bother to hide the note of desperation in his voice. “Four hours is all I ask.” Caught between the painful light of life and cold embrace of death, Jim did not respond. Spock did not expect him to. He watched the rise and fall of Jim's chest with each artificial breath and did not find the familiar movement at all comforting... nothing short of Jim's survival would be of comfort now. It was an illogical thought pattern, but Spock did not care. Just as he did not care about the illogic of his actions as climbed into the biobed to lay beside Jim. The biobed screeched in protest, unused to the presence of two life forms on its surface. Too shocked by the intense heat radiating off of Jim's body, Spock did not hear. Instead, he gathered Jim to him, as gentle and careful as he knew how, so that the cooler skin of his face pressed soothingly to Jim's burning forehead. Even though he was so thin, Jim still fit perfectly in Spock's arms, and that soothed the tight ball of despair within Spock, if only for a little bit. Before he had a chance to settle fully, however, McCoy burst through the door at a frantic run.

“Goddammit, Spock!” The doctor yelled after a pause.

“Leonard-” Spock began, but McCoy cut him off with a death glare as he strode to the biobed.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, you hobgoblin!” McCoy snapped as he turned off the biobed alarms. “I thought we lost him for sure when I heard the alarm go off!”

“I apologize,” Spock said as he moved to untangle himself from Jim, “I did not think.”

McCoy uttered a long, exasperated sigh as he gestured for Spock to remain where he was. “No, of course you didn't.” Unsure of the origin of McCoy's ire, Spock maintained his silence. An awkward moment passed as McCoy swept his hazel gaze over Spock and Jim on the biobed, but Spock allowed the doctor time to gather his thoughts. “This is...unexpected,” McCoy finally grumbled awhile later. 

“Indeed.” Spock prepared to defend himself against whatever prejudice the doctor may impart, but it was obvious that he should know better. McCoy was not a judgmental person by nature, and certainly not when it came to his best friend. 

“Alright,” McCoy grumbled, but was uncharacteristically quiet for another moment.

“Doctor?”  
“Dammit, man. This is not the time for this discussion.” 

“I agree, Doctor. Perhaps you should get some rest. I shall be sure to inform you immediately if Jim's condition changes.” By change, Spock most definitely did not mean deteriorate. 

“Is that Vulcan for get out and leave us alone?” McCoy asked, a mix of exasperation and humor in his voice. Spock declined to respond to that, instead, tilted his head in subtle affirmation. He watched as McCoy placed a hand on Jim's burning forehead and noted the concern flood back into the doctor's hazel eyes. McCoy said nothing, but the look that he shared with Spock was enough for Spock to unconsciously tighten his arms around Jim; as if he could protect Jim from the debilitating illness. “Hang in there, kid,” McCoy muttered under his breath. Then, with a final meaningful look at Spock, he left the room. 

Settling fully onto the biobed, Spock laid a hand over Jim's chest, finding comfort in the weak but steady thrum of Jim's heartbeats. One. Two. Three. Four. 

“Ashayam. Parted from me and never parted. Do not ask me to live without you.” 

Five. Six. Seven...

~o~

“Personal log. Stardate 2260.76. I have never seen anything so aesthetically pleasing as the blue of Jim's eyes when he first wakes....”

 

-fin-


End file.
